


freaked

by Rag



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drabble, Drug Withdrawal, Gen, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 22:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11473053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rag/pseuds/Rag
Summary: You don’t want this, but you don't know how to stop it. And every sleepless day that passes, it gets harder to ignore.





	freaked

**Author's Note:**

> tw imagined eye gore mention
> 
> i edited this a lil after publication

Sometimes people need to die. Sometimes people  _deserve_  to die.

They still hit you up, they bump up your feed and your room with their sick friendly overtures, their lighthearted jabs, and some of them with these sweet quad flirtations. You used to be able to enjoy it. You were deluding yourself back then. The only way you could push this back is if you were so fucked up on sopor that you could barely walk. It was always there. It was always there waiting to come out. This was always thrumming in your veins like a pulse, a quiet whisper that you used to be able to drown out but now it’s talking, and it’s getting louder every day, kill them, make them suffer, end them, drain them dry and paint the walls with their blood. Right the wrong that is their unholy existence.

You want to kill them. You  _need_  to kill them. It eats at you. Gnaws at you like a thousand tiny gnats on a corpse. Wriggling around and laying maggot eggs that hatch from your dead skin.

You should have seen it coming, but you were always denying it with your slime pies and your raps and your wicked worship, prayers you recited a little too fervently because it was something to do, keep yourself busy, and all the hundreds of other distractions to keep you from thinking about the throbbing need in your blood to kill them all. Kill them. Kill them all.

They’ve always mocked you. They’ve always fucking mocked you and trotted themselves around like they were the goddamn bitch’s tits. They mock you even now. Saying that you smell and you’re ugly and you’re boring and gross and weird. They're not your friends. They've never been your friends. People like you don't have friends.

Someone needs to put them all in their place. Someone needs to remind them where they fucking sit in the motherfucking caste.

nO

You hate it, fucking hate it. It feels inevitable. The longer you go without sopor, the stronger it gets. It feels like there’s voices, literal voices, whispering, reverberating through your spine. You used to drown it out, but the music is dead and all you hear is that little whisper, smiling and laughing. Think of all the colors. Paint with the colors.

Your friends (friends?) laugh and play with each other. They yell and fight and go through their little interpersonal dramas. This pair of them have become friends, that pair of them has become enemies. They all start to blur together, with a few exceptions. Karkat, namely. The only one of them still bothers with you in a way past superficially.

(Tavros hurts to think about. Tavros apparently decided you weren’t worth bothering with. Tavros found _better_ friends to talk to. Shit, maybe he thinks you’re too disgusting to look at in person. You want to make him pay. You miss him. You want to wipe his weak shitstain blood off the face of the meteor.)

You’re so fucking pale for Karkat that it hurts. It sears you like a sharp white-hot brand pressed into your motherfucking eyes until the viscera, blood and tears run down your face in blissful fucking karmic retribution.

You don’t want to kill him, him most of all, him more than anyone. He’s your best bro and you fucking love him. But you’re terrified that one day, you’ll stop caring. And you know what you’ll do if that happens.

You don't know where he sits on the hemospectrum. You don't ask. You try not to put two and two together. How he aggresively avoids talking about it, how his horns and muscles are so weak and small. You don't ask. You hope you never have to know it.

You've been vomiting a lot lately. Maybe it's sopor withdrawal. You’re can’t keep anything down. Karkat is worried in that sweet fucking pale way of his. He keeps visiting you and giving you water and shit. Pitifully berating you for eating all those pies for all those years, didn't he tell you not to eat that shit. You’re fucking sickened by it.

You try telling him to fuck off.

He doesn’t care.

He sticks around anyways.

And he has this way about him that almost puts you at ease.

But then he leaves, and even that’s gone.

_Kill them._

You don’t want this, but you don't know how to stop it. And every sleepless day that passes, it gets harder to ignore.


End file.
